If you liked reading this, click the ❤️ button so more people can discover it on Substack 🙏
Here I've sat, suffocating. Dormant but not dead.
Some define me as a dull, sinking feeling. Some associate me with the color blue. They call me Sadness.
I understand that at first, I was just too much for Cal. So he pushed me away. But I had something very important to tell him, and it was imperative we get his attention.
I tried over and over to talk to him myself, but he didn't want to hear what I had to say.
So I sent Envy when he'd see someone playing music or dancing. He just pushed it down.
Next, I sent Anger and Judgment when he'd see others drawing or painting. Anger he took out on his parents. His friends. And especially at his little sister. His parents had no idea what was going on, and neither did he.
After all of the years of pushing down envy and acting out uncontrollable anger, he depressed himself. He withdrew from all feelings and painted a layer of gray over his entire life.
Decades later, on paper, Cal's life was cush. He had a great job, hot wife, and healthy kids. He knew something was off but blamed it on being overworked.
Then one day everything changed.
He ran into an old friend in his hometown. His name was Evan. He had gone to school with Cal for a year then left. They had lunch and at some point Evan asked, "Do you still sing?"
"What do you mean do I still sing?"
"Well you were in the choir the year I was there. You used to love to sing. Do you still play music or sing?"
"Ohhh, haha… no. I quit that same year."
Okay, think! I thought to myself Yes. It's time. I sent up the memory of him being in the 6th grade choir. He loved singing. One day, he overheard some 8th graders calling the choir "gay." So he quit. He saw the memory, and then—he felt me!!!!!
THIS IS ALL I'VE EVER WANTED!!!! I thought, which was immediately followed by the hardest push down he had used in a long time.
This event woke me up.
Cal thought of that moment a couple times throughout the next week, and each time I'd start to show my face, he'd push me back down. So I waited to strike again.
A few days later, he came home from work, and when he opened the door he heard his son and daughter giggling with delight.
"What's going on over here?" he asked cheerfully.
"We're drawing cavemen, daddy. Look!" said his daughter.
I had been waiting for a moment like this. I sent up a second memory. He was drawing in the middle of his 5th grade history class when his teacher came over and took the paper out of his hands.
"Hey Arnold!" he said, holding up the drawing of the cartoon character. Everyone laughed. Some whispered, knowing he was in trouble. He hadn't drawn since.
"Come draw with us daddy!" said his son.
"No buddy, I'm sorry I have some work to finish in the other room," he lied.
He went into the other room, sat down, and nearly cried.
Two weeks later he was walking through the airport with his family when they saw a big grand piano in the middle of the terminal that had been donated by some non-profit. A guy sat down at the piano and played. He was mesmerizing.
Cal's family had a long layover so they sat down and listened. At one point, the pianist played "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles.
That's when I sent up another memory. My birth story.
3rd grade, piano recital. After the show some kids made fun of him for how red he got walking on stage. So he quit playing piano.
As he listened in the airport, I came up out of my hiding spot. He let me be. So I whispered the message I'd been holding for all that time:
“Hi, I’m Sadness. Your true Self sent me from the deep to remind you how much you love using your creativity. How much joy you get out of singing, drawing and playing music. And of course you do, because you’re an artist!!!"
He didn't notice the tears streaming down his face.
Then he did the bravest thing he'd done in his entire life. He stood up and joined in the singing.
Artwork: The Glass Onion by Michael Divine
This is a fictional story inspired by my own experience and that of so many men I've worked with who've lost their creative spirit to the point that they forgot that they ever had one.
A significant amount of what we call anxiety, depression, and general discontent is related to a lack of creative expression. We are creative beings meant to make sense of our experience, to express ourselves and to play through the creation of art. Whether that be painting, music, poetry, curating events for your family, or starting a business that lights your soul on fire.
This is not about adding another hobby to your life. This is about reclaiming your curiosity and passion for life.
Found this through publication in the Muse by Mail that Altamira did. Beautiful writing. Thank you.
Beautiful